


The House Next Door

by jehanjetaime



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Grantaire is totally an art history teacher, Kid Fic, Multi, Non-Binary Feuilly, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Trans Enjolras, ukuleles abound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-16 14:23:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11830569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehanjetaime/pseuds/jehanjetaime
Summary: Grantaire's rich parents suddenly have new neighbors - a father with his young daughter, his sister, and his sister's fiancée. But as Grantaire gets to know the family, he finds out that they may not be so new after all. Can friendships formed at a summer camp 10 years in the past impact the present?





	1. Take Me Away From This Horrible Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is something that's been sitting in my WIP folder for a while, so I decided to dust it off and bring it out.
> 
> This chapter's title is taken from [The Horrible Party](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VJqALrDWp4E) by the Magnetic Fields.

The house next door had been empty for a long time.

Of course, Grantaire supposed “next door” was a bit generous, since, while the house technically neighboured theirs, it could not be seen past the grand sculptured lawns and perfectly manicured trees that surrounded his house. His manor. His PARENT’S manor, since more often than not Grantaire stayed in his flat in the city (you know, where things other than brunch happened, where his parents weren’t always there to be on him about his career choices, and where the Greek/Turkish heritage he inherited from his father didn’t make sure he was the only POC not in serving whites for miles around). Anyways, Grantaire was 23. He was a history teacher at an arts school, with his own friends, his own place, his own goals.

That meant nothing to his parents when they were throwing a fancy garden party. Now, Grantaire loved his parents, and they loved him, but they had very different ideas about what made a party fun. His parents preferred light sandwiches, cover bands, and aged wine with perfect cheese pairings. Grantaire would have rather had an aux cord and friends with good music on their phones, a potluck dinner of take-out, and substances that were not quite as legal or fancy. 

Yet there he was, in a mother-approved salmon polo shirt and a mother-unapproved pair of torn up skinny jeans. _“You shouldn’t be wearing skinny jeans if you had to buy them in the big and tall section,”_ an ex-friend from childhood (who didn’t really know they weren’t friends anymore) told him every time they saw each other at one of these things. Grantaire usually just shrugged it off, but after hearing it once every couple months for three years, he was very tired of those particular words in that particular order. And his mother guaranteed that guy would be here.

As well as the new inhabitants of the house next door.

“It’s a young man about your age with his daughter - she’s two or three, I’ve seen her a couple times and she’s absolutely darling. Huge ringlets in her hair, big brown eyes. Just the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen,” Grantaire’s mother said as she watched the party company she hired hang up streamers and string lights between the trees. “His sister and her fiancée are living with him, too, and I think you’ll like the fiancée - she seems like your sort of person.”

Well. At least they were queer. And Grantaire did love children - he brought his ukulele and always sang to the kids when the parents got bored of showing them off and the nannies could use a break. “I’ll be civil, mother - you don’t need to worry. After all, no one is able to resist my charms.”

She rolled her eyes at his antics, but still kissed his cheek. “My handsome man.”

Grantaire matched her eye roll with one of his own. He certainly was not handsome, by any definition of the word. His face looked like it had been cobbled together with leftover bits of other faces, none of it really fitting together right. But it was nice to hear, even if it was from his mother.

 

* * *

 

The party was as Grantaire assumed it would be - boring, bland, with light food, women in tottering heels despite walking in the grass, men with sweaters tied around their necks, and children in outfits more suited to a museum than a party.

Grantaire couldn’t stand it. 

He ate a little, drank a little, chatted a little. Spoke with his parents’ friends, people who had known him since he was in diapers and wouldn’t let him forget it. He avoided that old friend and his fat-shaming nonsense. He cheered his father on in a game of croquet - as much as you could cheer a game of croquet, also known as the most boring game on the planet.

Of course there were a few interesting people to talk to - when one spent time with the rich, eccentricities were always to be found. He spent a good deal of time talking with a teenage son of a politician, who was enamoured with ancient Welsh kings and his two dates - two! - who were not as knowledgeable but clearly had heard the spiel before. The girlfriend, Grantaire caught mouthing the words along, having clearly heard the speech before; the boyfriend spent the time winking and waving at anyone else who would give him the time of day.

All in all, a very normal party. When the cover band became too much for him, he wandered off to a gazebo where some of the children were playing under the watchful eyes of the nannies. Not wanting to intrude on the nannies or make them feel as if they could not chat among themselves, Grantaire instead dove into the game of tag the kids were playing.

As they were playing, Grantaire noticed a little girl, barely old enough to walk on her own, watching from the side. She caught his eye for two reasons. One, she was standing all by herself when she was far too young for that. And two, she was wearing not the hottest kiddie fashion of the year, but a simple crocheted dress that Grantaire swore was handmade. 

He broke the game of tag and sidled in her direction. Not wanting to frighten her by walking towards her directly, Grantaire wandered over to a rose bush near her and paused to sniff a bloom. When she didn’t run, he plopped down right on the grass and pulled out his phone to just fiddle with it.

And sure enough, after a moment she came toddling over. “Hi,” she said, words muddled in the way of very small children. He nearly keeled right over and died, however, because she was so small and cute. Little white shoes, her dress, her springy curls, her big eyes, freckles all over her already dark skin.

She was the cutest thing that he had ever seen.

“Hi,” Grantaire said, softly, not wanting to scare this little marshmallow away.

She looked at him carefully through her child-sized glasses, then extended her chubby finger towards where most of the adults were. “Tata Cosette is over there.”

Grantaire didn’t know if this was just one of the random statements children made, or if she had been told to let strangers know that she was with someone, but either way he was proud, and offered her a smile. He was not surprised at the French term - there was a heavy concentration of people from France in the area, including his mother (and himself, he supposed, since he had lived there until he was 2). “That’s good. Do you wanna play with the other kids?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. Her hair moved like water. “Too big.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong - she was hardly even a toddler and these were all elementary  schoolers. “Well here, what do you like to play?”

“School,” she said, brightening up right away. “Papa says I can go soon!”

Grantaire nodded. “It’s good to practice, then. Do you like to be the student or the teacher?”

“Teacher!”

Aw. She was SO cute. He was not going to survive this day. Grantaire reached into the worn messenger bag that he never went anywhere without and pulled out a notebook, then a pencil. “Alright then, teacher,” he said with a smile, opening the notebook and positioning his pencil so he could write. “Teach me.”

She stood in front of him with a an “I-know-it-all” expression on her face that struck a chord in him - he remembered that look from his childhood. Her lesson was immediate and he nodded along, taking notes on the different types of dogs - none of which, he learned, were the kind his teacher had at home. She said it after every type (which was more colors than anything).

Finally, politely, he raised his hand and waited.

“...yeah?” she asked, and Grantaire almost laughed.

“I have a question,” he said, trying to sound as serious as she did and failing. “What sort of dog DO you have at home, Miss Teacher?”

“...a stuffed one.” She seemed SO sad about it that Grantaire felt bad for asking. “Her name is Victoria, and she’s a Golden Receiver.”

Golden. Reciever.

Lord help him on this day.

Before he could respond, the girl turned around. A moment later, a young woman in a white dress similar to hers cam rushing through the crowd. “There you are,” she said, breathing heavily and bending over, hands on her knees. She was short, pudgy, cute, and looked enough like the little girl that Grantaire knew they were related. In fact, with her warm skin, her heavy curls, and that mole on her cheek, she looked...familiar. “Harrietta Joan, I thought we told you to stay where we could see you.”

“I’m teaching, Tata Cosette,” she said in the weary way of children who are being interrupted during a task of vital importance. “See?”

When she pointed to him, Grantaire waved from his spot on the ground. “She was educating me on the different types of dogs. It’s all very fascinating, and she is an amazing teacher.”

Cosette, a name which suddenly bit at him from somewhere in his memory and filled his nose with the scent of bug spray, finally seemed to notice him. “Oh, I see. She loves dogs more than anything in the world. Hattie, were you bothering him?”

“Of course not,” he said, holding out his notebook so she could see where he had been doodling the dogs the little girl - Harietta, he now knew, or Hattie - had been telling him about. “I was eager to hear about all of these dogs.”

Hattie beamed, and so did her aunt. They looked so alike when they smiled that Grantaire was nearly bowled over. “I’m afraid I have to cut the lesson short - her father’s asking for her. Do you wanna go see Papa, angel?”

“Yes!” Hattie held her arms up and Cosette swept her up into an embrace. She twisted against her aunt to look back at Grantaire. “Bye bye!”

“Goodbye, Miss Hattie; maybe you can give me a lesson again later!”

Cosette smiled. “Thanks for playing with her; we’ll see you around, alright?”

“Enjoy the party,” he called, then pushed himself off of the ground. His playmate was gone, and she was the most interesting person at this party.

What was he supposed to do now?

He took a moment to just gather himself, then moved over to where the buffet was being set up; however, when he saw his ex-friend, he looped around and went the other way. Grantaire let his father bring him over to his friends and THEIR grown children, who were all doctors, lawyers, engineers. His father gave the _‘what can you do?'_ smile and eye roll when Grantaire reported that yes, he was still a teacher and not even at some fancy academy or charter school. Just an arts school, one he loved and never planned on leaving. The history of art was endlessly fascinating to him, and if he didn’t teach these kids that not all art was not boring white guys in frilly collar, who would? But Grantaire had known of lot of these people since he was a child and found it pretty easy to speak to them. 

Better his father than his mother, who pushed him at numerous people throughout the day - anyone within a five-year range of his age who might like men. A young woman who looked like she had a stick shoved up her butt with a father in car imports, a man with nose so far in the air that Grantaire could see his brain and a politician mother. All people with rich, powerful families; all people he wanted nothing to do with. She loved him and just wanted him to happy, but he wasn’t going to get together with anyone at this party. THAT, he could guarantee.

After the buffet had been served, everyone had eaten, and the kids were getting antsy for dessert, Grantaire knew it was his time. He moved over to the back porch - well, a mini patio off of the real porch - and gout out a chair, then ducked inside to grab his ukulele.

Grantaire never announced that he was going to start playing, just started. A lot of the parents and nannies knew he tended to play at these events, so he knew that the moment he started a song they would usher the kids over.

He settled into the chair and made a bit of a show of tuning his uke. It was bright orange and he loved it more than pretty much anything else he owned. A few people looked his way, but it wasn’t until he really started a song - one of his own about gummy bears - that some of the older nannies brought their kids over. Grantaire tried to do a variety of songs when he played. Some were silly ones aimed at the younger kids, some were clean covers of popular songs for the slightly older crowd, and he always took suggestions.

Grantaire loved playing for kids, honestly, and did so at school during performance nights. No one ever expected the history teacher to be cool, and they were right. Grantaire’s performances were never cool, but they were certainly fun and everyone seemed to like them. A couple students had even started taking videos and putting them on Youtube, and were encouraging him to start his own channel. He was thinking about it, honestly.

For now, however, this was what he did. A small crowd of children and caregivers slowly formed around him as he played and sang, which always pleased him, and Grantaire was happy to see some of the younger children clapping or dancing in their own clumsy, bumbling way. So cute. 

He had sang three or four songs when he saw a familiar face at the front of the crowd. Hattie, in her little white dress, was watching him with her mouth open a little. Grantaire winked at her and kept up the song, bobbing and rocking in his chair as he sang. She was so serious that he laughed in the middle of a word, making all the children watching laugh.

Hattie did clap when he finished the song, then turned around and ran through the crowd. Someone took her in his arms. He had her skin tone, her freckles, and her curls, though his were dyed golden blond with hints of pink at the end. He scooped Hattie up and kissed her cheek, then looked up.

Deep brown eyes met Grantaire’s gaze, under serious, pierced brows, a round nose, a mouth that was stern even in a smile. Grantaire suddenly smelled bug spray again, heard splashing, and felt the heat of the sun that was, on that day, hidden by clouds. Hattie clung to her father, who was watching Grantaire with a curious look his beautiful eyes.

And Grantaire swore he had seen those eyes somewhere before. He almost skipped a chord or two, but the tripping of his fingers brought him back to his senses. Grantaire jumped back into the song and tore his eyes away from Hattie’s father. After all, the show must go on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm not using any of the usual names for Enjolras' daughter; I just wanted something different.


	2. I Saw You Last In Summertime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title is taken from [Long-Forgotten Fairytale](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XZ0u8VRJQzo) by The Magnetic Fields. Note that the songs don't necessarily hold meaning to the chapter or even the story - just titles from songs by my favorite band!

“His name is...oh, I don’t know. ‘L’ something. Last name Enjolras, that’s what he goes by. Isn’t Hattie sweet, though? She’s small and round, I want to kidnap her and raise her on my own.” Grantaire’s mother said as she dried the last couple dishes from lunch the next day. Ever since Grantaire moved out, they only had the maid coming in three times a week, and his parents were shockingly okay with doing their own dishes every once in awhile. Well. His father was - his mother was still getting used to it. Since Grantaire had done the dishes, however, she was drying them and his father was putting them away.

Grantaire opened the fridge to see if any of the dessert from the party had survived this long. “Are you sure they never lived around here before? I talked to Hattie’s aunt and saw her dad, and they both looked REALLY familiar.”

“I can check around,” his father said, “but that last name is not one I’m used to. You didn’t perhaps know the man before you left St. Gregory’s?”

Even though it had been almost nine years since then, Grantaire’s parents would never let him forget that he had been accepted at the prestigious, private, and very expensive St. Gregory’s Academy...only to let an early onset drinking problem get him expelled. They never mentioned that he had been expelled, or all the trouble he had caused, or the rehab, or the hassle to find a new school. They just found every chance to refer to “before you left St. Gregory’s.” Grantaire should have known that they would bring it up again. “No, darling Dad, I think I was the darkest guy they allowed in at that place.”

“Hercule!” his mother admonished, but Grantaire could see from the sheen on her cheeks that she knew he was right. “Why don’t you simply go over there and ask him?”

He snorted. “Ah yes. Hello good sir, sorry to interrupt your day, but you and your sister look familiar, did we maybe know each other before I was ousted from high society?”

His mother looked disapproving, but his father chuckled. “I’ll take a better look at them next time we run into each other,” he said, “See if they don’t ring any bells. And I’ll ask around - if they have the money to live out here, then someone has to know something about them. All I know is that the father is in law school.”

A brief glance at Grantaire that felt less like a second and more like an hour. He sighed and returned to his stool. “I’m sure I’ll figure it out. Maybe it’s nothing.”

But something kept trickling down his spine that would not let him think for a moment that he did not know these people.

 

* * *

 

Hattie and the other rich children were not the only children Grantaire knew, of course. He wasn’t talking about his students, either.

Monday he found himself making the drive to pick up a friend’s kid after school, as he usually did. Lechsinska - Lech for short, her choice, which tickled her zaza - was a sweetheart. 9 years old with wild auburn hair almost down to her waist, usually with flowers in it, mismatched clothing that came from thrift stores, always singing or dancing or painting. Her zaza, Grantaire’s friend Feuilly, had given birth to Lech when they were only 15, and had fought tooth and nail to make a good life for her. Feuilly and Lech were a warm, loving family unit of two and Grantaire was a little bit convinced that if both he and Feuilly were still single in 10 years, he would propose to them.

As it was, Lech piled into the front seat of his car and pressed a big kiss to his cheek. “R,” she sing-songed, as always using his preferred nickname, “Zaza says they want you to come stay the night on Friday! Will you will you will you!?”

“Of course I will. Sit your butt down, girl, I can’t go anywhere with you climbing all over me.” Because that was exactly what she was doing, tangling him in her dress made of different scarves. He looked her in the eye. “Unless you’re saying that you DON’T want me stop by McDonald’s…?”

Lech immediately sat down and put her seat belt on. “I’ll be good.”

“That’s better,” he said with a wink. As if Grantaire wouldn’t take her. Feuilly worked late on Mondays, which meant dinner was late, so Grantaire always got Lech some sort of snack during the afternoon. He was proud of Feuilly and wanted to encourage them to keep up at their job - if they wanted to help change the way CPS was run, they needed to work hard towards a promotion!

“Did you have your fancy party?” Lech asked as they pulled out into the busy street right in front of her school. She was endlessly fascinated by Grantaire’s family lifestyle; Grantaire guessed being raised in poverty would do that to a girl.

“I did,” he said, with a sigh. He always made a point to stress that his family was not better than hers in any way, but would indulge her curiosity. She had even been to visit a couple times - without Feuilly. They had come to visit once and Grantaire caught them crying in one of the spare bedrooms, heartbroken over the fact that they couldn’t offer their daughter a home like that. It had been so uncomfortable and Grantaire had felt so bad after that it was just better if Feuilly stayed away after that, even once they were making more and could afford a better place to live, better food, better clothing. They were all much more comfortable in Feuilly’s small apartment, or Grantaire’s, anyways. “It was insanely boring. I was there for 900 years.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” Lech said. She was always showing off all of the words she knew, and since she collected words like some people collected stamps, Lech had a large arsenal.

“It was that boring, Lech.” Grantaire turned down a small side street to avoid the worst of the traffic.

“You didn’t have ANY fun?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Grantaire knew that Lech LOVED little kids and was already talking about being a kindergarten teacher when she grew up. So he told her about Hattie and everything that happened. She loved to hear about all of it and that was the topic of choice until they pulled up at McDonald’s.

Grantaire brought Lech home and settled her in. She didn’t usually need help with her homework, but he made sure that she knew he was available if she did in fact need help. He sat next to her at the kitchen table and graded some papers, drawing little pictures on every hand-written 6th Grade paper despite the grade. Grantaire always tried to grade according to effort and improvement. It was a calm, easy night; after homework, Lech settled down to watch a movie while Grantaire strated dinner. Feuilly always told him that he didn’t have to, and Grantaire always ignored what they said.

The pasta was just about ready when a key turned in the lock. Lech was on her feet before Feuilly could get the door halfway open, and she wrapped her arms around their waist. “Zaza! I missed you! Let me tell you was Neelam did, you’ll never believe it....”

Grantaire greeted Feuilly with a wave as they were dragged over to the couch; it was apparent even to a young girl that Feuilly was tired all of the time and needed to rest (while she, of course, talked their ear off about all of her friends). That was why Grantaire made sure to make dinner at least one night a week; the poor person was so used to running themself ragged to stay ahead that, now that they could relax a little more they didn’t know how.

Feuilly sat on the couch until dinner was ready and all three of them gathered around the table. “Extra sauce?” they asked, gesturing to the small bowl Lech brought to the table and set next to a large serving bowl full of fettuccine alfredo. “You truly know the way to my heart.”

“I would never deny anyone extra sauce. In fact, if you didn’t want extra sauce, I would think you were sick.” Grantaire poured everyone some ice tea from a pitcher before setting it down and finally taking his own seat.

With a grateful smile, Feuilly dug in. “How was work? Is your boss still on you?”

Grantaire loved his job, that was true; the principal, however, thought he was a little too openly right wing. The board didn’t seem to mind, so Grantaire knew he was safe; the principal, however, he had to deal with on a daily basis. “You know she is. Exhausting. But she mostly leaves me alone to work with these kids. I’ll be sad to see this class go in a couple months.”

“Almost summer!” Lech piped up. “I can’t wait! We can go to the park, and to the beach, and picnics!”

Feuilly nodded. “Yes, the two of you get summer off. Unless you’re doing summer school again this year, R?”

“No, I’m not - we don’t think the group will be as big as last year. Unless there’s some mass group failings in the very near future, the school won‘t need me.” Which was a relief - the so-called summer break teachers got was never the lengthy, two-month thing all non-teachers imagined.

He was still looking forward to it.

After dinner, cleaning up, and packing lunch for everyone, Grantaire sat down for one game of Sorry before admitting that he had to go. “I’ll see you Friday, okay?”

Lech, who was hanging onto his arm, pouted. “Don’t go - stay tonight! We can watching cooking shows!”

Ugh. She was tugging at his heartstrings, like an expert harpist on exhibition in Vienna. “I’ll be here on Friday, alright? And maybe I’ll pick you up on Wednesday, too?”

A nod from Feuilly cinched it, and it was only with that promise and a kiss on the cheek that Grantaire was released. He hugged Feuilly goodbye and took the short drive back home.

It was not until he was laying in bed, nearly asleep that he thought of Hattie again, and Cosette, and Enjolras. Curious, he pulled out his phone to text one of the few people from his childhood he was still actively friends with. Like himself, this was a man who had come from money and privilege and wanted to help those who were in no position to help themselves - though, this one was little more activist about it than Grantaire was.

 **R** : Hey, J Man!

And then, a minute later, a response:

 **Joltron:** You caught me on break; what’s up?

Blessed Joly - he was a medical student inching closer to his residency, so he was almost always awake. If he was on break he must have been working at the special clinic he did receptionist work for after-hours.

 **R** : Do you remember anyone we may have known called Enjolras, or Cosette? Like maybe back when we were kids?

 **Joltron:** Not really. Those names don’t really ring a bell. Why?

 **R** : Just some people I ran into that seem REALLY familiar nvm I’ll figure it out! <3

He sighed and plugged his phone in, then went to go take a shower. As the water ran over him, he tried to think, bring his mind back to the party, to the faces, to Cosette’s face, to Enjolras’ eyes.

But it was no use. Any memories he had were washed down the drain.

 

* * *

 

_“Catch me!” she called, dark hair loose behind her as she ran over the sand. It was hot that day, so hot that the counselors warned them against being barefoot on the beach, but as usual none of the kids listened._

_Grantaire ran after his friend, a girl only a year younger than him. He didn’t remember a summer where they did not play together at Lake Bonaparte Summer Camp, and he had been coming here since he was 3, for their “Minnows” day program. He was 7 now though, a full Frog camper, so that was four years! A whole lifetime! A lifetime of spending every summer on a lake, sleeping in state-of-the-art lodges, making crafts, eating s’mores, and playing with the Tholomyès sisters._

_Though, he had to admit - he was closer with one than the other._

_He caught up quickly and swept her into his arms. Under the watchful eye of the lifeguard, hey fell crashing into the waves. Grantaire emerged first, laughing and shaking water from his hair. She emerged a moment later, dark curls bogged down with water and freckles over her nose. Her brown eyes, deep, looked at Grantaire before she jumped, pushing him down._

_And he let her. Because all of a sudden, his stomach felt a little funny when she looked at him, and he didn’t know why._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Tongue-Tied and Useless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title is from [I'm Tongue-Tied](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UmgRoGbY3CI) by The Magnetic Fields!

As life always does, it moved on. Spring inched towards summer day by day. Grantaire graded papers and went to school functions. He attended Lech’s piano recital and helped Feuilly fix their car when it broke down on the side of the road. His parents, he spoke to on the phone, but did not visit again right away; they understood that he was busy at the end of the school year. His parents never brought up the neighbors, and Grantaire mostly forgot about them. He had a good many other things to do than think about people he may have known, once.

At the very end of May, however, he was feeling burnt out, which lead to him taking a Saturday off from all of the things he wanted to get done and lounging on a couch in a friend’s kitschy little café. Time off was dangerous for him; Grantaire knew what he was likely to do if he got too bored, and another stint in rehab was the last thing he wanted. But today he had a book to read, he had the guaranteed best spot in a warm place on a rainy day, and he was pleased. 

Behind the counter his darling Jehan - another friend he would marry if given half the chance - was taking down some handmade Spring decorations and putting up some handmade Summer decorations under careful watch of his boyfriend. Jehan wasn’t always a he, but this month he was. His boyfriend and their café was possibly the only constant in his life - be it gender expression, hair color, tattoos, piercings, anything, Jehan was never the same from one meeting to the next. He was a babbling brook in an enchanted forest.

His boyfriend, holding the ladder for him, was an ancient obelisk in the middle of that brook, tall and intimidating, a warning to all ye who would enter here. Montparnasse was the poison of their place of business, Jehan the light. Cyanide and Luminescence was famous in the area, and with a heavy social media campaign spearheaded by Montparnasse, it was growing in reputation every day. CaL, as they all called it for short, was one of Grantaire’s favourite places in the world, and he was happy to be there to see it blossom. 

He was happy to be there at all, to listen to the indie-folk-metal-pop music coming from the speakers, to smell whatever Montparnasse had baking, to read a book that he had bought nearly a year ago and never gotten to read. Grantaire was pleased to easily settle down and lose himself in the atmosphere.

People came and went through the café doors, ordered things and left, or hung around for a while. Jehan brought Grantaire food and refuse to be paid for it; he slipped the money to Montparnasse instead. Grantaire sipped at coffee and relaxed.

Near noon, the door jingled open and Grantaire heard bright, bubbly laughter. “She’s SO cute, I don’t know how we get anything done.”

“I know, it’s disgusting.” Another voice, a little rougher, a little less bouncy. “I don’t see them here though - Enj must be running late.”

He glanced over his book, just curious since the voices had caught his attention. He spotted Cosette almost immediately, in shorts that reminded him right away how long it had been since he had a date, with hair now the colour of cotton candy. She was holding hands with a sharper looking woman, more angular, with sleek black hair and a tattoo stretching over her collar bone, of what looked like a Navajo symbol, something he remembered from his Indigenous People course way back in college. Avanyu, something like that. But he didn’t look too hard; Grantaire didn’t want to be accused of ogling anyone’s chest. This must have been the fiancée he had yet to meet. 

The woman looked at her phone, then wandered over to the counter. “This has to be his place - only someone like THAT would want to name a place where you eat after a poisonous substance.” She leaned over the counter to look into the back. “Monty! Monty, I came all this way, the least you can do is come GREET me!”

A crash in the back then Montparnasse came out, what passed for a grin on his face - the silver microdermals on his cheeks caught the light against his dark face and Grantaire could see why Jehan had fallen in love so fast. He nearly vaulted himself over the register to sweep her up. “‘Ponine, you FINALLY came to see me! I’ve been on you since the second you moved!”

He swung her in a circle and kissed her cheek before setting her down. Grantaire watched Montparnasse look past her to Cosette. “There is no way that an angel like this has agreed to marry you.”

The woman pulled away from him and gestured Cosette forward; Grantaire watched them over the top of his book they made introductions. Cosette’s fiancée was named  Éponine, and had known Montparnasse for a long time. Grantaire had never seen Montparnasse so physically affectionate with anyone other than Jehan, and hoped that there was nothing to worry about on that front. He didn’t want to have to get into a fistfight with someone who had done jail time, but at the first sign of Montparnasse being untrue, he would.

Montparnasse steered them towards the best table in the place - which just so happened to be near Grantaire. He lowered his book, and Cosette spotted him almost right away. He waved, and she smiled at him. “You were at the party,” she said, pointing to him. “At the Grantaire’s house. You were playing with Hattie.”

He flourished and nodded his head. “That’s me. Hercule Grantaire, ma’am, at your service.”

“Oh, you ARE a Grantaire,” she said as Éponine pulled out her chair for her.

“Just ‘Grantaire,’ if you will - everyone calls me that.” he shut his book, folding the corner over to mark his spot. “And this must be your lovely lady.”

Éponine just looked at him. “Yeah, that’s me. You’re the son of those people with that huge manor?”

“Yeah,” he said, with a charming smile that did not seem to impress her. “That’s me!”

“Come, join us…”

Grantaire did not need much wheedling from Cosette to sit with them. “Hercule Grantaire,” she muttered. “You don’t meet many ‘Hercule’s. Maybe that’s why it sounds familiar.”

“You think so too?” he asked, unable to keep himself from sounding excited. “When I meet you and saw your brother, I had this weird feeling that we met somewhere before. If you think so too, maybe I’m not making it all up.”

Cosette looked him over. “You do seem familiar, you did at the party. We didn’t grow up around here, though, we lived at the very top of the state for a while, but then moved all over. For a long time. I haven’t even set foot in this state since I was 6, I think. Almost too young to remember much.

“But you seem familiar.”

“Don’t get started on fate again,” Éponine said with an affectionate smile. “Not everything is a sign of destiny or something.”

With a teasing motion, Cosette touched her fingertips to her cheek. “Me? Believe in DESTINY? I never.” When she turned to look at Grantaire, there was a mischievous smile on her lilac lips. “Éponine and I met because we were fated to do so, no matter how much she teases me. She was my first kiss when I was in 7th grade, in Mrs. Harrison’s math class. I didn’t see her again after she moved away, until I was shopping at a little flea market and who did I bump into as we both tried to grab this old-fashioned mermaid lamp? Éponine. And the best part is...do you know what the name of the flea market was?”

“What was it?” Grantaire asked.

“Harrison’s Flea.”

He laughed heartily at that; Cosette joined him. “That’s amazing, truly.”

“We have the lamp, too.” Éponine pulled out her phone and flipped through a couple of screens before showing him a picture of the two of them holding up a vintage lamp shaped like a mermaid. The room behind them was kitschy and cute, done up in teals and tans.

“Is this in the new house?”

Cosette nodded. “Yes, we just re-painted that room and thought the lamp would look amazing in there. That’s on our floor, the second floor - Enjolras and Hattie take up the first floor, technically, but we all have everything everywhere. It’s crazy, really, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Ah. An opening to ask more about the brother. “Enjolras...that’s your last name, right? My mother mentioned that he goes by the last name, I think.”

“That’s it,” Éponine said. “Lucien is his first name and he likes it just fine but ever since I’ve meet him, it’s been ‘Enjolras.’”

Crap. That didn’t help either - not a usual name around here, and nothing he remembered from when he was a kid. Maybe he would look for some of his old picture albums just to be sure, but this was itching at his brain. “I usually go by my last name, too,” he said. “My parents hate it, but when some people go around being called things ‘Bubba,’ I don’t think using my last name is too bad.”

Éponine laughed at that. “I guess you’re not wrong there.”

Montparnasse came over to less take their orders then tell the women what they were having. He eyed Grantaire. “How do you already know them? How do you always know everybody?”

“Can’t help it, I suppose - it’s that natural charm.”

With a roll of his dark eyes, Montparnasse was gone again. Grantaire looked after him, then to Éponine. “So, you seem to know our gloomy master of shadows back there. Dare I ask how?”

She shrugged. “We grew up together. He’s always been a pain in my ass but I guess I can’t stay away from the guy. When we decided to move here I contacted him right away; he told me about this place so I thought I might as well get a free drink or something out of the deal.”

The door opened again. Cosette turned to see who was there and immediately had her lap full of a little girl in all blue with a mass of wild curls. “Who do we have here?” Cosette asked, burying her hands in the child’s sides to tickle her. “What little monster came to steal my lunch?”

Hattie wriggled in her arms. “Tata Coseeeette, no monsters! I’m HATTIE!”

“Excuse me,” Cosette said, letting her go so she could settle down. “I must have mistaken you for a monster I know.”

“Monsters don’t have such big eyes or bunny socks, I don’t think,” came a warm voice from the door. Grantaire dragged his eyes from Hattie, who was now struggling to get her shoes off to show everyone exactly what bunny socks her father was talking about.

Lucien Enjolras smiled and bent down to help Hattie get her shoe off. “Sorry if we’re late - class let out late because people wouldn’t stop asking questions.” He got the shoe off and Hattie stook an impossibly tiny foot up in the air; indeed, her socks had little bunnies on them. “And for once, it wasn’t me.”

He looked up and seemed to notice Grantaire for the first time. “Oh. Hello. I didn’t even see you there.”

“Well, with Hattie around I don’t know how you see anything else!” he said brightly, hoping that they could all hear him over the pounding of his heart. This man was very, very attractive - even more so up close than at the party. Wow. What was with this FAMILY? Were they a family of models? Unbelievable.

Then Enjolras smiled - at _him_ \- and Grantaire felt like he might faint. “You were the man with the ukulele at the party, weren’t you? The errant son of the Grantaire family?”

“Ah - you’ve met my father.” He laughed, but it may have caught in his throat when chairs were moved a little and Enjolras sat in between Éponine and Grantaire himself. Enjolras pulled his hair - which was now blue at the ends, when Grantaire swore it had been pink at the party - away from his face with some sort of sports headband. Grantaire managed to smile and hold out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, finally. I’ve met Cosette a couple times and Hattie is my teacher, but we’ve never spoken, have we?”

“No, we haven’t. Lucien Enjolras. We live next to your parents now - though they’ve probably told you that. Your mother is very friendly.” Enjolras pulled a little menu towards him and looked it over.

“Has she been over? You’re the most interesting thing to happen in that neck of the woods in a long time, trust me.” Grantaire watched Hattie take off her other shoe and put it neatly on the floor with the other one. Wait until Jehan saw her - they were going to melt. “Queer people, people of color? They’re really in the 21st century now. No one who isn’t painfully white has moved in since...us!”

Enjolras flipped the menu over. “I had noticed that. To be expected; I know what the wealthy, ruling class in this country looks like.

“Is this s’mores flavoured hot chocolate?”

The two statements were so disconnected that Grantaire had to laugh. “It is. It’s really good, too - real chocolate, actual marshmallow, Jehan even uses liquid smoke in it for that campfire taste. Highly recommended.”

Enjolras set the menu down, and Cosette immediately told him that he had to get food as well, he couldn’t live completely off of sugar. It was such a familial thing. He met Éponine’s gaze and she smiled, but rolled her eyes as if to say _’Yes, that’s how they are all the time - there’s nothing to be done about it.’_ It was charming. All four of them were.

“Cosette, when we get home you may feed me whatever nutritional meal you wish. Right now, I’m getting this s’mores hot chocolate and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.You know that s’mores are my favourite.”

Hattie padded around the table in her little stocking feet to climb into her father’s lap. “S’mores!”

“Exactly. You can have a taste, Hattie J, but you said you wanted grilled cheese, too. So why don’t we order you a grilled cheese and then you can try some of my hot chocolate, alright? Does that sound fair to you?”

Her little eyes lit up. “Yes!”

Grantaire was going to die; she was so cute. This whole family was, honestly, and he was glad to be able to spend time with them. He always enjoyed meeting new people - even if that little voice was still there, telling him that maybe they weren’t new people at all.

 

* * *

 

_ “Here you go,” Grantaire said, scooping up a plate with a messy s’more on it and passing it to one of his friends; another plate soon followed for the other. A third plate for him and he sat right between them. It was late - almost 9 - and all of the campers were sitting near a very well-contained campfire. Grantaire swung his feet as he sat on the log between the sisters.  _

_ The smaller one knocked her foot against his. “‘Taire,” she said in a sing-song voice. “‘Taire, ‘Taire, with curly hair!” _

_ He smiled; she sang that to him a lot and he really liked it. Her more somber sister sat on his other side, completely entranced by her s’more. There was already marshmallow dripping onto the little plastic frog necklace she wore - all of the kids, age 6 and older, wore those necklaces to show that they were big kids and could do stuff the little kids couldn’t do. “That’s not fair,” he said. “Nothing rhymes with your name!” _

_ “Daisy,” said her sister. “Crazy, lazy, hazy...uhm. I think that’s it.” _

_ “Daisy! I like that! What about you, though?” _

_ Grantaire bit into his own s’more as she thought about it, hand on a messy chin. “Bore,” she finally said. “...more! Chore. Door.” _

_ “...what about s’more?” Grantaire said, holding his up. _

_ Both of the sisters smiled at that, and he was rewarded with a very sticky hug on both sides. “S’more!” she said. “I love s’mores. They’re my favourite.” _

_ And suddenly, they were Grantaire’s favourite, too. _


End file.
